Judge — April 21, 1917 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Willie's idea of a munition plant. frame of mind, he decided that a hot bath would be advisable, to insure his sleeping. Unfortunately, however, his room (which was the only sort of accommodation he had been able to obtain on short notice) did not have a private bath attached. He would have to be content with the more democratic institu- tion known as Gentleman's Showers, located some distance down the corridor, Accordingly, clad in a bathrobe of Turkish fuzz, he repaired thither, and was soon enshrouded in agreeable steam. He emerged from it feeling much better. In fact, as he started back to his room he felt soothed, quicted, at peace with the world. But when he laid his hand on his doorknob he experienced a shock. Not that it was electrified: it merely wouldn’t turn. It was one of those fatal self-locking contrivances that work freely on the inside but require a key on the outside. Mr. Jessup shook the door in impotent wrath. He looked up and down the corridor. Nobody in sight. Clasping his bathrobe modestly about him, he slip-slopped (for his mules would not admit of tiptocing) to the turn of the hall and peered around it. Receding in the distance was a chambermaid. “Ssst! Chambermaid!" he called. Now this particular chambermaid happened to be a little rosy-cheeked country lassie of seventeen, who had been taken on because of the rush season and was doing her first day’: work. Her mother, mindful of the snares that beset a young person in this world of iniquity, had admonished her with solemn warnings. Consequently, when little Beulah (for that was her name) became aware that an unconventionally-clad man was following her down the hall, she took care to increase her speed. The more he called and beckoned, the faster she hurried. “Stop a moment, I say! I want to speak to you!” called Mr. Jessup, still pursuing her. She broke into a run. On down the corridor they sped, she scuttling along and he snowshoeing madly, relentlessly after her. But even the. longest corridor ha n end. Beulah, fleeing half blindly, suddenly found herself confronted by a wall and window. The next instant, her pursuer caught up with her. “Listen to me!” he cried excitedly “Lemme lone! I'll tell the manager on you!’ scream!” “Listen to me, I tell you! I’m locked out of my room, and I want you to let me in.” But Beulah, imagining the purport of his words to be wicked, had covered her ears with her hands, so that she might “hear no evil.” Mr. Jessup expostulated and gesticulated in vain. Allat once he caught sight of a bunch of keys hanging at her belt. “Here! Give me those!” he cried, stretching out his hand. She squirmed out of reach. “Tl have to fake them, then,” he said grimly; and he lunged forward to grab them. She screamed. Doors opened, heads were poked out, people in various stages of day or night costume began to arrive on the scene. A pompous-looking woman in evening dress demanded: “How dare you annoy that girl!” “You ought to be ned of yourself!” added others. A lone man in the background remarked waggishly: “Caught this time, old boy!” Mr. Jessup boiled, sizzled, red in the face. “1 should think he woud blush!” At last Mr. Jessup found utterance. “Since you're so interested in my affairs,” he blurted savagely, “will you kindly make this chambermaid let me into my room. _ I’m locked out.” “A likely story!” “Does he expect us to believe trumped-up excuses like that?” But this time the chambermaid had heard him. The truth nd spluttered. Rage made him Pup—My master certainly is good to fix such a nice soft place for me to bury bones in. comicbooks.com